"Uh huh," said Sim, climbing down stiffly from the wagon seat now and joining him in the task of puzzling out the trail. They followed it to a place where some ashes had been trodden in the yard. Here the wheels of the car had left their clearest record.
"Not a big one," said Wid. "Ragged tire on the nigh hind wheel. See this?"
They ran the trail on out to the gate, picking it up here and there, catching it plain in the loose sand which covered the gravel road bed.
"Whoever done the work at my place," said Sim, "was drunk. Look how he busted down my mail box."
"Look how this car was running here," assented Wid. "You set here by the gate, Sim, and hold the team. I want to run up the road a piece to where the timber trail turns up the canyon."
"Sure, Wid," said Sim. "I can't walk good."
It was half an hour or more before his friend had returned from his hasty scout further along the road, and by that time it was dark.
"That's where they went, Sim," said Wid Gardner. "I seen the track of that busted tire plain in the half-dried mud, little ways up the trail. Whoever it was done this, has went right up there. When we get a few of the fellers together we'll start. To-morrow morning, early."
"To-morrow!" said Sim. "Why, Wid——"
Wid Gardner laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's the best we can do, Sim," said he.